Change
by Caxis
Summary: This is a mini sequel I wrote to Lois Lowry's "The Giver" (Credit to her, of course, for the basic plot line and the characters). Change features Fiona, and takes place soon after Jonas had left with Gabriel. Hope you enjoy. -Caxis
1. Chapter 1

**Change**

**The sequel to Lois Lowry's "The Giver"**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

It began at the break of day, when the first sliver of light broke through the dark, starless night. Something in the air shifted, a ripple, like brief waves of heat. Then all was still, but not the same, never the same.

A dwelling, small and average as any other house in the Community, stood just on the edge of a street no different from any other street.  
Inside this dwelling was a Family Unit; the Mother and Father respected, the children happy. All were still sleeping, and would until the scheduled morning.

The girl, just a Six, lay curled between pale sheets, her hands clutching an object known vaguely as a Bear. Her breathing was even, her hair spilled from its regulated braids and out onto the pillow. If there had been moonlight, it would have melted into the dark through the open window.

Suddenly, in the moment the Community changed, she stirred.

Her hands tightened around the Bear, her breathing slowing and rising in an abrupt, uneven pattern. She started to mutter uneasily in her sleep, rolling over.

In a single split second, her dark eyes snapped open with a wild fear. She flung forward in her bed, dropped the comfort object, and screamed into the quiet night.

Lights appeared, clicking on in every household down the street. The scream of a little girl could easily vibrate through an open window and thin walls into the domains of many close Family Units.

The doorknob of the little sleepingroom rattled, and in flew a man, a Father. He rushed to the bed and grabbed the wailing girl's small hands.  
"Melanie!" He shouted over the sound. Unlike the frightful nature of the daughter, he sounded merely puzzled, rather than very concerned.  
She wrapped her arms around herself, her screams dying to choking cries.

A woman, as average as any of them, appeared in the doorway. "Probably just a nightmare," She said uncertainly. "Is that it Melanie? Did you have a nightmare?"

"I don't know Helena," the Father murmurs, staring at the unfocused eyes of his daughter. "She looks sick."

"I'll go fetch the pills," the Mother said, and hurried off out of sight.

* * *

At the other end of town, behind a sturdy building known as the House of Old, an elderly man sat on a forlorn couch, gazing at nothing in particular. A large bookshelf covered one wall, and the single window in the room was shut, the blinds drawn.

The man's dry hands were tightly gripping his knees, tense and still. He looked as if he was waiting for something.

He stood up suddenly and approached the window, pushing aside the papery covering. He thought he could hear something… it was too faint to tell what. The scratch of a bicycle wheel on pavement? But it was still early. No one would be riding until later.

The man wheeled around and strode to the loudspeaker, pushing the button. A fuzzy crackling resonated in the room, and then a slightly startled voice.

"How may I help you sir?" She did not ask what he was doing up so early. Such a question would be rude.

"I believe I can hear some sort of commotion nearby, though it is hard to tell. I am in need of confirmation."

"Is it disrupting you, sir? Shall I send someone to stop it?"

"Not disrupting," he replied thoughtfully. "Merely puzzling."

"We will investigate right away, sir." The woman said formally, her voice muffled in the loudspeaker.

"Thank you for your services."

There was a sharp click, and the sound died. The man stood still, waiting.

Several moments later, the sound once again appeared.

"The commotion appears to be screaming, sir, from Dwelling number Thirty Six." The woman announced, sounding flustered. "A Six, in her room with the window ajar. It has been closed, and the Family Unit is attending to her, but she cannot be quieted presently."

The man tensed once again, throwing a glance at the window. "Please inform the Elders that I am on my way there."

He could hear her hesitate, but her smooth voice was devoid of resistance. "Yes sir. I apologize for the inconvenience of the female."

"I accept your apology Caroline." He said impatiently, slipping on the standard Community shoes and flipping the loudspeaker switch back to off. He fumbled with the doorknob, then pushed the door open and strode quickly through the receptionist room and into the night.

The sound was gone; the window must have proved efficient in closing.

"Just a Six," He whispered to himself. "What have I done?"

Dwelling Thirty Six was no different from every other dwelling on the street. Now that he was close, however, he could just hear the cries of a small child from the lower window.

There were lights all around; the entire Neighborhood had been startled out of sleep. Some had their faces pressed against the windows, though a few seemed indifferent and unperturbed.

The man stepped up to the smooth door, and knocked firmly.

He heard scattered footsteps, hurried whispers, and as the door slid open a crack the confused face of a Mother appeared. Beyond her, the screams were suddenly audible.

"Hello," she said, not unkindly but clearly unsure. She did not ask who he was. "Would you like to come in?"

He smiled reassuringly at her and stepped onto the threshold. "Thank you Miss. You can call me The Giver. I've come to see your daughter."

The Mother glanced nervously at a door, which must have held the sleepingroom of the Six. "Of course." She relented, raising her voice over the wails of the female. "I greatly apologize for the inconvenience of this commotion. She is unusually agitated tonight."

"I accept your apology, and assure you it is no trouble." The Giver replied, and turned to open the door.

There she was, her frazzled hair a wispy blonde and her hazel eyes wide – though these features were unknown to all but him. The female's cheeks glistened with tears and she huddled against the headboard of her bed, crying and clutching her stomach. On the floor, pills were scattered, as if the bottle had been thrown.

As The Giver approached, she glanced up, pained.

"It hurts," She whimpered. "I need…" she coughs.

"I know child." He murmured. "It will pass soon." He reached out and gently put a hand on her shoulder.

He watched as her arms relaxed, her eyes dimming. The memory hit him like a boulder, and he gasped as the gnawing hunger blurred his sight. The hand on the Six tightened, and she winced.

The Giver shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled as it passed. He could feel it, a space filled in his mind that had been previously relieved.

"Starvation is hard," He said soothingly to the girl, now shivering and staring. "But it's gone now."

He stood after a moment, his expression serious and his voice grave. "What is your name?"

"Melanie," she whispered.

"You must be strong, Melanie. If this happens again, remember. It isn't real. Can you do that?"

She nodded, trying not to look afraid. "I'll try."

The Giver smiled sadly. "Sleep now."

He left her clutching her Bear once again, and faced the Mother. Behind her, the Father had his arm around a boy, older than his sister. The Giver estimated around Ten.

"Your daughter is fine." He said to the bewildered woman. "She has merely experienced a memory."  
"What do you mean?" She asked.

"These kind of memories are like dreams, but they can occur at any time. There is no need to worry; they are fleeting. She is in no real pain." His voice sounded troubled even to himself, but the Mother nodded and the Father said nothing.

As he made to leave, she called out suddenly. "These sudden memories wouldn't have anything to do with that missing boy would it?"

The Giver froze, his hand taunt on the doorknob. He was silent for a moment. "All will be explained." He said rather abruptly, and walked out.  
His feet moved of no accord back to the Annex, his mind elsewhere.

It was beginning.

"Jonas," he whispered.

The boy had either successfully broken through the Community barrier or met his end. He couldn't stand to think of the latter.

Melanie had been only the first. He was grateful that at least the memories seemed to come in pieces; all at once could crush a small girl in an instant.

But she had been so young! And there were so many even younger in the Community who were vulnerable. He couldn't take all the memories, not again. Even the single recollection of hunger had been painful. He was too old. What he needed was help.

Curiously, the first person that came suddenly to mind was a female he only knew from the word of Jonas and the red of her hair.

And yet. He could feel it. Fiona was significant.

The Giver rounded the corner and stepped through the door into the building. He punched in a code and pulled open the second door.

As he stepped onto the cold floor, something shook through him, like a bolt of electricity. He dropped heavily onto the chair, and put a hand to his creased forehead as an image burned behind his eyelids.

An image of a bright red sled through a curtain of snow.

What had he done?


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The first thing Fiona saw was the dark shade of a ceiling.

It was the same ceiling as always; she was sure of it. She turned her head to look out the window, at a morning as scheduled as it had been forever. She sat up, looking around. Nothing was different.

So what was this feeling she had that something had changed?

Fiona laughed to herself. She was being silly. Nothing ever changed. Not really.

Except…

She stood, troubled. And it happened.

As she turned toward the door, her head twisting to look at the smooth paneling, a wisp of her hair fluttered in front of her eyes.

Fiona froze, her breath catching in astonishment. She reached back to pull more of her hair over her shoulder.

Something had changed.

She had changed.

Fiona leaned against the wall, her head spinning. Was something wrong with her? What was this peculiar difference? She couldn't quite explain it, even to herself.

Her hands fumbled with the doorknob as she tried to calm down. She would ask her Family Unit; they would know.

Fiona pulled open the door and walked steadily to the table, where her Father and Mother were already seated. Bruno, her brother, sat on the floor with his comfort object a little ways away.

"There you are Fiona," her Mother said mildly. "We were beginning to wonder."

As her Family Unit turned to look at her with slight smiles and curious eyes, she braced herself for their astonishment, for their questions – what had she done to her hair?

But as she watched, they only sat contentedly at the table. As if nothing was different.

Her Father cleared his throat, and Fiona was shaken from her stupor. "I apologize for making you wait."

"We accept your apology." Their voices were steady and in unison. There was no betrayal of surprise.

Fiona hesitated. "You… you don't notice anything… different?"

Her Father frowned slightly. "Different?" He studied her closely, then chuckled. "I think you've gotten a bit taller since the last time the Council recorded your height. We'll have to look into that.

"Is that what you mean?" He added.

Fiona's hand twitched at her side. They couldn't see it. What was the matter with her? "Yes Father. That is all." She smiled through her dread.

"Well, if that's it, sit down and eat. You'll be late for school." Her Mother reminded her.

Fiona nodded, pushing her uncertainty aside, and slid back into her morning routine.

* * *

The House of Old was only a few short paces away when a man stepped in front of her.

Fiona stopped, surprised and disgruntled. The Elders would be disappointed if she was late, and it had been a tedious day at school. She had been freshly startled with every student who approached her; not one seemed to notice the change that was painstakingly obvious to her. She looked forward to her work.

"Excuse me," She said politely, but he did not step aside. As she examined his gray hair and tired eyes, she recognized him vaguely. He had spoken for Jonas at the Emergency Gathering. Fiona felt a wave of sadness as she recalled the event, and the question that had been tugging at her heart insistently ever since that night.

What had made him leave?

"Hello Fiona." The man said slowly. She stared for a moment. There was emotion in his steady gaze, more than she had ever seen in a citizen. The Community was controlled and content, always.

She pressed a hand to her forehead, feeling a bit dizzy. Was she sick? Maybe she could ask her mother later for some relief – of – pain pills. Perhaps that would solve the curious alteration of her hair as well…

Fiona's eyes widened. Her stirring pills! She had forgotten to taken them in her rush.

"I… I apologize sir. I seem to be a bit out of sorts at the moment." She said distractedly.

"It's quite all right. May I ask what is troubling you?"

She avoided his eyes, looking down at the ground. "Pardon my reluctance, but you may think me mad if I tell you." She said quietly.

"Hardly," He chuckled. "But if you insist, I won't press the matter. If I could, I'd like to speak with you somewhere more private."

Fiona glanced upward, surprised. Privacy was not entitled to the citizens. "I would, sir, but the Elders are expecting me."

"I will send a message telling them you will not be coming to assist them today." The man said dismissively. "Now, if you'll follow me."

He started forward. She sighed, and followed close behind, nervous as he turned to circle behind the House Of Old. Fiona could see now they were entering the Annex, a building she hadn't been to before.

A woman sitting behind a desk, with her hands folded neatly on the polished surface, greeted them.

"This is my receptionist, Caroline. Caroline, this is Fiona. She'll be spending some time with me today."

"Welcome Fiona," the woman smiled warmly, and nodded in acknowledgement of the Giver's words.

As the second door swung open, Fiona catches a glimpse of Caroline answering a phone call. Phones were rare in the community, not present in any dwelling.

The Giver gently shut the door and gestured toward the couch. "Please, sit."

She obliged, the soft fabric surprising her. It was more comfortable than the standard furniture.

"Now then," He said, sitting heavily in his chair across from Fiona. "What is on your mind?"

She hesitated. "I feel different." Fiona said finally. "I mean… ever since the Emergency Gathering I've been upset. No, not upset…" She struggled to find a word.

"Uneasy?" He suggested, and Fiona nodded.

"I don't understand why Jonas would want to… why he'd…" she lowered her gaze. "I apologize. I know we aren't supposed to speak of him. But I don't understand."

"It's quite all right Fiona." He said kindly. "The rules of the Community don't quite apply to this room."  
"Do you see it?" She blurted out, then flinched.

"See what?"

Fiona bit her lip. "My hair. It isn't the same. I don't know how and I can't quite explain it, but no one else sees it." Her voice had slipped into a tone of desperation.

The Giver stared calculatingly at her for several moments. He looked slightly perturbed.

"Sir?" Fiona says curiously.

"I do see it." He replied, and she relaxed.

"What is it?" Fiona asked. "Is something wrong with me? How do I describe–"

"You're starting to see something called color. I do not know if you will eventually see all the colors, or if only this has been given to you. Only Jonas originally had the ability, but now that he is gone…"

"Wait," she interjected, too startled to worry about being rude. "Jonas could see these colors?"

"Yes. And, coincidentally, the first he received was the lovely shade of red your hair possesses." The Giver smiled wearily.

Fiona's gaze drifted down as she took in this information. "Jonas knew things the rest of us didn't." She said. It wasn't a question; she was thinking back to his expression all those days ago, when he stumbled into Asher's shooting game.

"Yes," The Giver repeats, nodding. "And soon, so will you. So will the entire Community."

His voice was suddenly grave. He leaned forward, his words quiet and urgent. "It is beginning. Right now it is just the color red, but soon it will evolve into chaos, and I can't control it alone."

He was starting to confuse her. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I don't–"

"Understand. No one does." His laugh was harsh. "But they will. They'll see, every last one of them."

Fiona was beginning to feel scared, real fear that she had never experienced before. She tried to be brave, to make sense of his words. "Did… did Jonas understand?"

The Giver stopped, his eyes snapping back into his steady gaze, though it seemed saddened. He leaned back. "Jonas was the key to it all, Fiona. He saved us." He seemed to be trying to convince himself. "Yes. It had to be done.

"Were you very close?" He inquired, and Fiona nodded.

"We were good friends. We'd ride our bikes together to and from school. Also along the river." She shrugged. "I rather miss him, but I am quite busy with the Elders, so I suppose I don't have much recreation time to spend anymore."

"That isn't close." The Giver told her flatly, much to her surprise. He looked almost angry for a moment, his eyes darkening, but then shook his head. "The fault isn't yours. You don't have the capability to become close with another citizen. That is, after all, how the Community works." He sounds bitter.

Through Fiona's bewilderment, she felt a twinge of annoyance. "If you'll excuse me, Giver, I do not appreciate your accusation. I liked spending time with Jonas, I believe I have quite a lot of capacity to do whatever I please with, and I believe there isn't any fault with the way citizens communicate within the Community.

"I apologize for my forwardness." She added softly.

The Giver smiled. "Don't apologize."

There was a silence.

"Giver…" Fiona finally murmured, "I'd like to know what is beginning. This talk, it's quite confusing and I want to understand. Can you explain?"  
"I can."

There was a sudden sound, a short buzzing. Fiona jumped.

The Giver rose and walked to the door, pulling it open. Caroline stood in the doorway, her expression grim. "Sir, the Chief Elder would like to speak with you. He's arriving any minute."

The Giver looked impassively at her. "Thank you Caroline."

Fiona stood. "I suppose I should leave." She says, uncertain.

"I apologize, this meeting is as unexpected for me as you. If you'd like, you can come back around this time tomorrow, instead of continuing your normal procedure, and I will answer your questions. Thank you for your time Fiona."

She recognized his words as a dismissal, nodded in farewell, and left.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Do you love me?"

Fiona shifted restlessly in her sleep, her breathing rustling her red hair. Her gentle hands tightened around the sheets.

"Do you love me?"

There was an awkward silence for a moment. Then his Father gave an awkward little chuckle. "Jonas. You of all people. Precision of language, please!"

The words faded to unintelligible sounds. She saw his face, Jonas's. It looked troubled. She wanted to console him, to reach for him, but she couldn't feel her arms.

"Do you understand why it's inappropriate to use a word like 'love'?" His mother asked.

Jonas nodded. "Yes, thank you, I do," he replied slowly.

He was lying.

The faces of his Family Unit twisted into darkness, like wisps of smoke, and Fiona woke with a gasp.

* * *

"I had a dream last night." Fiona said nervously, and the Giver smiled in curiosity.

"It was of Jonas." His smile dropped. "He was sitting at a table with his Family Unit and he asked them… I'm not sure what it is exactly… if they loved him."

She could see his eyes grow gradually darker. "And what did they say?"

"I don't know… it sort of fogged up. But I do know they seemed to tell him not to use the word. What does it mean?"

"Many things, Fiona," The Giver muttered. "Many things."

She studied his tense posture in silence.

"Giver… why did I have this dream?"

He stood abruptly, and strode over to the window, gazing at it, though the blinds were drawn. "It seems," he began, facing away from her, "that you are receiving not only the memories I had given, but Jonas's real memories as well. That is… quite interesting."

"I apologize for not understanding, but memories, sir? How does one give memories away?"

"It was the job of the Receiver to hold the memories. Memories of a better world, of a different life. With color and beauty and climate and family and love, all things the Community lacks."

Fiona couldn't comprehend this piece of information. She was starting to feel agitated; what was he talking about?

Giver… why did Jonas leave the Community?" she asked quietly. "Why did he do this to us?"

He glanced back at her sternly. "Now Fiona, Jonas does not lie at fault here. The blame lies with the structure of the Community."

She was stunned. "But… the Community is perfectly fine. Everyone here is happy."

"Are they really, Fiona? Are you?" The Giver bites his lip, his pale, tired eyes narrowed in thought. He paces back and forth, glancing at the window. "Can there ever truly be happiness without pain? Can we ever know what it feels like to live without knowing how it feels to suffer?"

Fiona's hands were clasped tightly to keep them from shaking. "Please, sir, I think I want to help but I don't know what's going on."

"Come here," he ordered, not unkindly.

She stood and approached him. He placed his hands on her shoulders and closed his eyes.

There was suddenly a rush of warmth, unlike anything Fiona had ever experienced. Everything glowed and she felt her cheeks flushing under the gentle beating of light on her skin. She sighed, content with this curious new phenomenon. Her arms spread, welcoming it.

The hands of the Giver tensed, his fingers gripping her arms strongly. As the warmth washed over her, she felt a spot of cold under his palms. It felt strange in contrast to the heat.

It spread to her elbows, then her wrists. Light, frigid breezes enveloped her hands until they shook with the stinging cold. She felt the pinpricks of ice climb up her spine and curl around her neck. She rubbed it reverently, trying to call on the warm feeling as she shivered.

"Stop," Fiona muttered as her lips grew dry from the moisture, the cold turning her breath into steam and her skin pale and stiff.

She hunched over and clasped her arms around her body. It was too cold, she had never been this cold…

Her lips parted but she could feel her cry freezing in her throat. As Fiona breathed, her lungs stung with the icy air.

"Giver!"

She couldn't see him anymore, only shifting endless white, but she could still feel his hands on her shoulders.

As soon as the word left Fiona's lips the cold melted. She gasped in relief as warmth once again basked her in the unknown, welcome glow, melting the cold and drying her skin. It felt better than anything she had ever experienced. It was pure elation in the form of light.

As it faded, the room shook back into view. Fiona fell backwards onto the couch, rubbing her eyes and trying to make sense of what had happened.  
The Giver also sat. His gaze was void of any emotion.

"What was that?" She said, rather indignantly.

"I just gave you memories, of sunlight and winter."

Fiona looked at him incredulously. "What are those things? And how did you do that?"

"It is the job of the Receiver to keep the memories. We may only share them with the Receiver in training." The Giver replied simply.

"But… I'm not a Receiver. That was Jonas's job. So… why are you sharing them with me?"

"Times have changed, Fiona." He looked away again. "After so long, things are finally changing.

"I gave Jonas as many memories as I could before his time came to flee. Memories of both hardship and happiness." His voice was solemn. "Before he received the task of becoming my apprentice, he was a naive, content boy like all of you. The memories change people, Fiona, and that is why things are changing.

"Jonas committed the selfless act that set us all free. He escaped with all the knowledge I had given him, and in doing so, released it into the Community. Every snowflake, every newborn cry, every shift in the weather contained within the memories has been given to all of you, and after being hidden away for so long it is certain to come as a relief."

Fiona struggled to understand. There was a mad gleam in the elderly man's eyes that puzzled her. "So… your job was to keep all the memories, until Jonas was assigned, and the job was passed to him. But the memories given to him were released when he left, and now the Community will have them?"

The Giver nodded, and leaned back in his chair.

"But why did Jonas leave?" She said, desperation shadowing her voice.

"Having knowledge that is kept from the Community is a big and traumatizing responsibility."

"Is it that painful?"

"The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It's the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared." He answered.

Fiona thought about his words. "Why do the Elders keep these memories from us? Why must you bear it alone?"

"They believe that the memories give you things that endanger the structure and order of the Community. They encourage choices, individuality, and true emotion, all things that had been eliminated from the routines of the citizens. If there was color, for instance, how could one reinforce Sameness when one girl has red hair while the other has black? How could we scoff at bragging if we promote it by giving children individual days of celebration, where gifts are given to some and not others?"

"And other Communities have these things? Fiona said, taken aback. "They seem dreadful."

The Giver smiled sadly. "That was what Jonas had said at first as well."

"What made him change his mind about the way things are?"

He thought for a moment, then replied steadily, "when he witnessed the release of a newborn twin boy."

Fiona was surprised. "Why?"

"Well, does that really need to be answered? He witnessed his own Father killing a mere infant, one who would have had a prosperous life otherwise. The meaning of release became clear to him then, and the realization that things had to change."

She stared at the Giver for a moment, then began to laugh, lightly and nervously. "But, that isn't what release means."

Only silence meets her words. He watches as she pales.

"The officials at the House of Old told me when I asked, that the drug in the needle only lasted for a few hours. They said the Elders were taken to a haven across the river."

The Giver winced. "metaphorically speaking, I suppose."

Fiona stood abruptly. "You're lying," she whispered, abandoning any manners. "What reason would they have to keep these things from us?"

"I'm sorry," he said, sounding regretful. "It must be hard to hear it like this, but I don't know what else to do. The memories are spreading; soon every citizen will have at least one, and not all of them are sunlight. We must be ready."

"How do we know when someone has received a memory?" Fiona snapped, abandoning any calm pretense.

"The Chief Elder informed me a birthmother recently tried to kidnap her Product after having a dream. She is scheduled for release, as is the child. Knowledge changes people." The Giver said grimly. "The Council of Elders wishes me to stop it; I have told them I cannot and they are extremely displeased."

"This is your fault." She gasped, glaring at him and backing away towards the door. "You and Jonas, you did this to us. You're lying to me, making it seem as if the Elders are keeping secrets when they really are trying to protect us. You're a menace to the Community, and I won't have any part of it!"

Fiona wheeled around and barreled through the door, her heels clicking on the sudden hardwood flooring. The receptionist looked up as she stormed past, flustered, but was ignored. She ripped open the second door and kept walking, cutting in front of the House of Old.

Her hands closed and opened, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to forget everything the Giver had told her. It was all frankly ridiculous.  
To think that release was death? Preposterous.

Jonas, this was his fault. He had betrayed them. He had betrayed her.

Fiona suddenly stumbled, pitching forward on the path. She stuck out her hands to break her fall as she landed face first. She winced, sitting up and glancing back to see she had tripped over a bicycle carelessly left on the street.

Fiona rubbed her ankle and inspected her hands. There were small cuts on her fingers, and dirt on her palms; nothing to worry about.

As she stood slowly, she realized where she had instinctively walked. The wall she faced… it was Jonas's old dwelling.

Fiona took a shuddering breath. The silence seemed to crush her in comparison to the chaotic screaming in her mind.

Her hand was on the door before she could consciously decide what to do. She was knocking, over and over, her knuckles hard on the wood.

She gasped slightly and withdrew her hand as it opened. A curious little face enveloped in light hair appeared, staring up at her questioningly. Fiona recognized Lily, a little taller but practically the same as she had been the last time they had talked.

Behind the small Eight, the Father appeared, his good-natured smile slightly weary. "Hello Fiona. What brings you here?" He said nicely, looking puzzled. After all, there was no Jonas to play with.

Because Jonas was gone. He had left the Community, had left his family, had left her.

And she knew why.

Fiona turned without replying and walked away, much to the surprise of the Family Unit she was leaving behind.

She just couldn't stand to answer the man who had knowingly killed a child. After all, what was there to say?


	4. Chapter 4

**This is the last chapter of my little mini sequel- it may feel a bit rushed (especially some of the reactions of the citizens, which are fueled by sudden emotion); this is because Change was originally a school project, and I had a deadline and requirements.**

**Hope you enjoy anyway,**

**-Caxis**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

"Lily," He asked that evening when his sister took her comfort object, the stuffed elephant, from the shelf, "did you know that once there really were elephants? Live ones?"

She glanced down at the ragged comfort object and grinned. "Right." She said skeptically. "Sure Jonas."

* * *

Katherine, just a small Seven, sat on the edge of her bed playing with her own comfort object. Hers was a strange winged thing called a duck, she remembered. After receiving it, she had whispered the odd title to herself before bed. It helped her sleep.

She thought curiously about what she had just seen. It hadn't been a dream, Katherine was sure. She hadn't been asleep yet.  
It had come to her like a forgotten memory, but it wasn't hers...

There was a girl, as well as an older boy. She felt like she recognized the boy from somewhere.

Katherine puzzled over the words he'd spoken, trying to make sense of them. She looked down at the Duck in her hand again. This boy, Jonas, seemed to think that this Duck was a real creature. That they all were.

But her Mother had told her they didn't exist. Why would she keep secrets from her?

Katherine shook her head and set down the stuffed object, leaning back into the folds of her pillow and falling gently asleep. Little did she know, she wouldn't be asleep for long.

* * *

Fiona turned over, lying on her side to face the far window. She stared restlessly at her hands, curled on the soft sheets. She closed her eyes, but opened them again in distress; nothing was working. She couldn't sleep.

It was the pills. Fiona hadn't taken them again, and she was starting to feel different. When she stubbed her toe on the stairs yesterday, it hurt much more than it should have, and her building resentment for the Giver was unusual; Fiona was usually a gentle, forgiving person.

She was also starting to see red everywhere, and it scared her. She could see the blush in the skin of her friends and the gleaming metal of many of their bicycles. No one else appeared to see it.

Fiona shifted again, adjusting her pillow and shutting her eyes tighter. She cleared her mind, thinking of only empty darkness.

She felt herself drifting off, sinking into her bed and falling asleep… and just as her breathing eased and her hands relaxed, a strangled wail pierced the air.

Fiona jolted back awake, sighed briefly, and sat up. It came from outside, very close. Lights flickered on outside her door, and she pushed her blinds aside to peer outside her window.

Through the darkness of night, she saw dwellings illuminated. The wail was bloodcurdling and sounded male. She vaguely recalled an announcement not so long ago, reporting the disturbance of a small female who woke screaming nights ago. Fiona shuddered.

The sound grew louder. She squinted, pressing her face to the window, and could just make out a dark shape kneeling in the road.

She backed away from the glass, a sinking feeling in her gut. Fiona tripped past her bed and out of the room, slipping her shoes on and running down the hall. She passed her Mother, who, bewildered, raised a hand to stop her, but it was ignored.

She bolted out the front door, her feet clicking loudly on the pavement. The cries were much louder out here, and Fiona resisted the urge to cover her ears.

The shape wasn't too far away, and as she approached it she could distinguish a male not much younger than herself. He was clutching his head and bowing low to the ground. His screams were hoarse and long.

She knelt next to him and grabbed his shoulder, shaking him roughly. "Stop!" Fiona shouted. "Stop it! What's wrong?"

As her hand tightened on his arm, an image flickered in front of her eyes. Fiona froze, shocked. She pulled her hand back.

The boy quieted with a gasp. He turned to look at her with pained, distant eyes.

Shaking, Fiona touched him again, tense. The image returned, vibrating like an old movie projector.

Suddenly she was surrounded by smoke, thick and gray. Fiona coughed loudly, dropping lower to avoid the dark cloudy mass. She heard creaking and a strange rumbling sound she couldn't identify.

Wherever she was, it was hot and dry. All Fiona saw from the ground was hard wood scorched and covered in black ash.

She crawled forward, trying to get her bearings. Her hands hit a hard surface; she felt a ridge and realized it was a door.

Fiona pried it open and staggered to her feet, but what met her was in no way more comforting.

Fire, glowing and violent, blanketed the room behind the door. Red and orange tongues licked the wood paneling and sparks ignited the beams above.

As she watched a table collapsed into a heap of blazing light. The very air rippled with heat. Fiona felt sweat on her forehead. Fear choked her like a hand.

Smoke obscured her sight for a moment, and she wildly waved her arms in an attempt to clear it, to no avail.

Her robe fluttered around her. She saw her sleeve catch on a nail in the wall and stretch. A stray flame ignited the fabric, creeping down her arm.

Fiona screamed, stumbling back against the wall and shaking the sleeve, trying to extinguish the fire. A pinching sensation in her skin made her stop, then shriek louder as the flame burned her hand, sending searing pains down her arm.

"Stop!" She cried, her voice hoarse from the smoke. "Stop it!"

Fiona lashed out, and her hand connected with something solid.

"Ouch," a male voice said meekly. She opened her eyes to see night sky and feel hard pavement below her. There was no fire.

The boy, from before, sat next to her, wincing and rubbing his face where she had hit him.

She looked at him, then down at her stinging arm, which was suddenly unscathed, still trying to process what had happened. "I apologize for hurting you."

"I accept your apology." He said, standing. "I apologize in turn for inconveniencing you and the rest of the Community. I don't know what happened." He looked troubled.

Fiona had already stopped listening.

Lights were flickering to life before her eyes, lights in ever dwelling she could see. She could hear commotion, voices shouting to each other. In the dwelling across from her, a vicious pounding erupted on the door, causing it to shake and creak. She saw a man, a Father, race past her, running toward an unseen destination as he yelled to no one. From her own dwelling she could hear the raised voices of her brother and her Mother, confused and scared.

Suddenly flocks of people were jostling her, running back and forth in all different directions. The street was packed, dwellings abandoned. She could hardly hear herself think over the commotion.

Fiona strained to pick words out from the conversations.

She saw a girl shivering violently, her arms wrapped around her body. She was leaning against a wall, muttering incoherently.

Another boy, very young, was wandering aimlessly in circles, giggling, his unfocused gaze trained upon the sky. His pudgy hand clutched something unseen. "Kite!" He cried happily.

The memories. It was happening, they were coming, every memory that had been passed.

Fiona was shoved to the side by a frantic man who dropped to his knees on the pavement. He seemed to be trying to dig into the road. She watched with horror as he was trampled by the crowd, a shrieking woman's shoe leaving a print on his cheek.

She ran, desperately trying to escape the wave of citizens, but every time she was jostled she could see things.

As a small girl's shoulder bumped hers, Fiona saw an enormous wave of foaming water engulfing a Community. As it faded away, a man brushed her side and she heard a menacing growl vibrating in the air, ripping abruptly into a roar.

Fiona knew the people didn't understand what they were seeing, and were acting out of astonishment and fear. They needed to be controlled somehow.

She pushed through a crowd of Mothers who sobbed uncontrollably, catching a fleeting feeling of loss as she touched them, and bolted towards the House of Old. She had to check on the Elders; after that, she would see if anyone in the Community was unaffected by the memories, and they could help her round up the citizens.

Where was the Chief Elder? Certainly the Council had noticed the commotion; it was chaotic all over the Community.

Fiona slowed as she approached the House of Old doors, gently pushing them open and starting down the hall.

The receptionist wasn't there; she hadn't expected she would be.

Fiona could hear commotion in here too; there was shouting and banging coming from behind doors in the Elder Wards.

She took a left down another hallway, looking for one Elder in particular. As a Caretaker, Charlotte was her responsibility.

Suddenly, Fiona stopped.

A door, one marked "Private. For Official Use Only", had always been in this hallway. She had never been beyond that door; she had never been given permission. It was normally locked.

Today, however, the door stood ajar.

Fiona felt a reckless, burning curiosity, and before she could decide what to do she was closing the door behind her.

Yet another short hallway stretched into darkness before her. She flicked on the lights, and the cold tile was illuminated. Fiona walked slowly across to the other end, where a flight of steep stairs led down.

She shivered; the staircase gave her an odd feeling.

Her shoes clicked loudly on the steps, and she winced every time she stepped forward, afraid someone would hear. The staircase was not long, and Fiona found herself on flat ground soon.

She fumbled in the dark for the second switch and clicked it on. She was now facing a metal door, ominous and large. A small square of glass was screwed into the door about halfway up. She tugged at the handle, but it wouldn't open.

Fiona stood on her toes to peer through the little window.

The room beyond was dimly lit and very large. It stretched farther than Fiona could see, and contained rows and rows of rectangular containers, neatly arranged.

There was one, nearest to the door, that had its lid removed. She could see a lumpy shape, covered by a plastic blanket, inside.

Fiona backed away. The room gave her a chilling feeling that she didn't like. What was inside the containers?

Her heart seemed to echo loudly in the silence, pounding quickly. Fiona's eyes slid up the metal door to the top, where there was a sign. With a sinking feeling she read the word on the plaque.

RELEASE.

Fiona felt her feet move towards the stairs. She felt herself shaking, gasping for breath as she climbed. The hallway that met her at the top seemed endless, much longer than the first time.

The Elders, the Newborns, even the citizens themselves; they had been condemned to die all this time!

They had lied to her! And she had willingly trained to kill just as they did! She had injected the Serum into an Elder herself!

The Giver had told her and Fiona hadn't believed him.

The entirety of the situation crushed her in a split second. Memories were attacking the Community, and there was no one to help. The Council had kept secrets from them all.

She remembered the words of the Giver. "Can there ever truly be happiness without pain? Can we ever know what it feels like to live without knowing how it feels to suffer?"

She knew now that there could not. The Community had been living in the shadow of a beautiful world. Fiona remembered the feeling of sunlight.

She had made her way back to the House of Old entrance. Beyond it she could hear the commotion of the panicking citizens. It seemed to have increased.  
As she pulled open the doors, a crackling echoed down the streets. It was coming from the speakers.

An announcement.

"REMAIN CALM." The voice boomed from all ends of the Community. It seemed to break through a veil for some of the citizens; their pained, distant looks faded, and they stood or stopped running. There were still many who cry, locked in their memories. "ALL CITIZENS ARE TO REPORT TO THE AUDITORIUM IMMEDIATELY FOR AN EMERGENCY GATHERING. REMAIN CALM. ALL WILL BE EXPLAINED."

* * *

Fiona shifted nervously. She sat near the stage, gazing up at the Chief Elder and the Giver, who stood in the spotlight.

It had taken a while to escort every citizen into the Auditorium and out of their stupors; now they stood in packs, shouting obscenities and questions up at the stage.

"What's going on? Why am I seeing things?" A woman close to Fiona asked loudly over the clamor.

"My son said he saw his comfort object walking like a living thing, but we've been told Giraffes don't exist. How do you explain this?"

"Men running, everywhere, screaming, smoke, guns, blood, _death,_ destruction…" A voice muttered in confusion close to Fiona. "Warfare. What is war? What is this?"

"This is because of that boy isn't it?" A man declared accusingly. "Jonas, wasn't that his name? He did this to us; he gave us these images when he left!"

"Silence!" the Giver bellowed, and like magic, the crowd fell quiet.

Fiona looked up at the Elderly man. Despite his strong air, she could see he was stooped with exhaustion; his eyes and posture were weary and he seemed pained.

He had carried the memories far longer than anyone, she realized, and not just pieces, but all of them. And now what the Giver needed most was to rest.  
Fiona pushed forward until she was at the edge of the stage, and hoisted herself onto it, much to the shock of the Community.

She glanced up at the flustered eyes of the Chief Elder and the small smile of the Giver. "If I may," she asked, her voice echoing, "I'd like to explain."

He stepped back, gesturing for her to do whatever she pleased. The Chief was too startled to say a word.

Fiona turned to face the crowd. It was so silent she could hear her own heart beating erratically.

"The Community has always been a place of structure and order." She began. "It has always been our home."

She paused, trying to find words. "We have always thought that this is the way and the way is good. We have been happy and healthy. We have been shielded from destruction and unfairness and inequality.

"But there is another way!" Fiona's voice rose. "Jonas knew that, and now we all do. There's a whole world out there, and none of it is like this. It doesn't shield us from sadness and it doesn't promote Sameness. There is much evil in reality, it is true, but without this evil I speak of, there could never be beauty. We have never experienced some of the most amazing things that exist, because of our lack of understanding. It takes both pain and joy to live.

"This is not living! This is contentment. This is all we have ever known, so we can exist without remorse in this life. We have never seen color, nor do we have weather or feel love." There were confused looks exchanged at these words, foreign to them.

"The fault does not lie with Jonas, for giving us these memories. The fault lies with the structure of the Community, and with the Council, for keeping the memories from us!" Fiona was shouting now, standing at the very edge of the stage. "They have kept many secrets from us in order to establish their precious Community! They would have us kill each other off to keep peace, and they do!"

There is a mutual gasp from the crowd at her words, and the citizens glance at each other uncomfortably, then at the Chief Elder accusingly.

The Elder herself is glaring in shock at Fiona. She moves to stop the girl, but the Giver holds her back.

"It is time to live! It is time to have the knowledge we were meant to possess!" Fiona declared. "It will be difficult, but the Giver will help us through to a new and better life. No release, no pills, and no secrets!"

"Your accusations are ridiculous!" The Chief snapped, but the Community was far from listening. Fiona watched as they shout in blind rage and excitement, feelings that they had never before experienced, that the memories had uncovered. The sound was deafening and encouraging. Chairs were tipped and people were pushed and jostled as the crowd moved out of the Auditorium and into open air.

Fiona jumped down from the stage and followed, her feet pounding with energy.

She now had the adrenaline that the Community had been lacking for centuries. She knew now why Jonas had left.

Fiona felt a burst of heat. She turned and gasped.

Someone had set the Auditorium on fire.

"The Chief Elder!" She cried. "She is still inside!"

Her words were drowned by the caterwauling of a furious crowd, of a rebelling crowd. They had been freed of their bonds.

Fiona watched, frozen to the spot, as flames engulfed the building, slowly turning the wood to curled ash. Smoke rose as a column into the air, fueled by the screaming cheers of the citizens.

It was strange, to see the burning, vibrant red against the pale gray of the Community.

Fiona turned away from the blazing fire, from the crowd she had encouraged. She gazed with wide eyes up into the sky, then at the distant horizon.

She could swear she saw a boy there, outlined against the sky, with pale eyes and a lilting smile.

But perhaps it was only a memory.


End file.
